Our Stars Are The Same
by The Fictionist
Summary: Will and Hannibal try a different method of forgiveness.
Prompt/poem by Lydia Theda:

 _Yes, I did just summarise S3/Dolce in the manner of the Iliad._

 _Sing, Muse, of Will Graham,_  
 _Cursed with sight, scarred by knowing, who_  
 _Chartered his craft, from Wolf Trap across_  
 _The mighty sea; was thrown upon the tracks_  
 _And left to wander, 'cross Europe and through to_  
 _Fairest Florence, lair of Il Mostro._  
 _Sing of Hannibal, ripper, monstrous,_  
 _Sat before the Botticelli, pencil dancing_  
 _Across the page, as he spoke_  
 _Of stars and understanding, listened to_  
 _Talk of blurs and crimes; walked side-by-side,_  
 _Scarred in tandem, mirrors, twins, let Will be_  
 _Struck down from afar, watched him_  
 _Drop his forgiveness, his own blade in hand._  
 _Begin, Muse, after healing, when Hannibal has Will_  
 _At his mercy, drugged, dreaming,_  
 _Waves of fear crashing upon his mind._

* * *

There were many, many ways Will had expected his reunion with Hannibal to go. In the long run, heaving breaths and sweat with a bullet wound throbbing in his shoulder wasn't a particularly surprising outcome.

Will's vision blurred as Hannibal's palm smoothed warm and familiar over his cheek. Eyes dark, intent, drinking Will up in more ways than one. Hungry in more ways than one, but he and Hannibal had always devoured each other a little bit hadn't they?

A shiver ran down his spine despite the sultry warmth of Florence in summer. His shirt lay in tatters at his sides.

The knife rested in his hand, but it rested useless, held more by Hannibal's grip than his own when Hannibal pressed it there. He couldn't move his arms anyway, pinned in place by his jacket. Will blinked. Once, twice, three times. He figured this would be the end of it now, or as much of an end as he and Hannibal would ever reach. An end that Hannibal decided on, either way.

Their bodies swayed together as Hannibal leaned in for a moment, and Will lurched the rest of the way forward with a grunt of pain. Their lips brushed, feather-light and dancing like their minds always did around everything they ever talked about.

Will crushed their mouths together properly in a kiss.

Hannibal's breath caught, hitching startled and Will felt a rush of satisfaction. The giddying feeling of seeing beneath Hannibal's impeccable human suit, through the cracks of the facade to whatever lay beneath. Of seeing, and understanding, just like Hannibal saw and understood.

Hannibal's grip tightened abruptly on his throat, and the air stuttered out of Will's lungs. Hannibal pulled back, examining him closely.

"I want to forgive you, Will," he said, instead. "I thought I had."

"Forgiveness takes two people," Will managed.

"Yes." Hannibal's head tilted to one side, considering. Something seemed to click and switch beneath the surface, a change of plan or circumstance. The second time they kissed it was softer, sweet as wine and equally heady.

Hannibal's firm grip on his throat didn't falter.

Will's head spun, straining for oxygen. The room fuzzed soft and dim as if lit by candlelight so he closed his eyes after all. It felt like Hannibal was everywhere.

Hannibal nipped at his lip, deepening the kiss. He savored Will like a delicacy and maybe that somehow made it worse – worshipping, dutiful, humbled like one might kiss a wrathful god who forgave in blood and fire and knives.

But Hannibal's firm grip on his neck didn't falter. His touch steadied Will and it controlled him, but that was Hannibal since the day they met wasn't it? Even if Will hadn't known it then. Hadn't seen.

Will's lips parted, gasping at air that didn't come. His fingers slackened around the knife and Hannibal caught it before it fell.

 _Do you fantasize about killing me? Tell me, how will you do it?_

 _With my hands._

Then the air rushed back as Hannibal let go, flooding him, seeping into every inch of him. Will sagged. He inhaled the scent of blood in with it, of Hannibal as his head tipped forward, burying into his former psychiatrist's shoulder. He only got a second to breathe before Hannibal kissed him again – harder this time, heat and teeth and tongue. Hannibal's hand clamped down on his wounded shoulder, pressing him back into the chair.

Will cried out, writhing like a hooked fish. Hannibal swallowed that too mouth hot against him. Teeth scraped against his throat, biting down. Will's hips bucked up, not sure if he was recoiling or chasing. But he'd never been sure about that with Hannibal either. Maybe they were the same thing, spinning around in circles forever.

He felt the knife press over his stomach, ghosting where it had sunk beneath his skin last time. Tracing over the scar.

Will's eyes fluttered open again, meeting Hannibal's as he panted. "Do you forgive like God forgives too?" he asked.

Hannibal smiled then. "Is that how you think of me, Will?" For everything, for the kiss-roughened flush of his lips and his rumpled shirt and hair mussed out of place, Hannibal's voice was as steady as his hand.

Will swallowed and shook his head, just slightly. He could imagine himself as Hannibal saw him too – glazed, breathless, prey-predator with wide eyes and pupils blown straining for – for –

For Hannibal, as always. Whatever that meant in the end.

"God doesn't seduce," Will said. Fine wine, fine clothes, fine words, and promises that dripped like velvet covered blades. Temptation had always been more the devil's forte.

"God doesn't have to." There was a touch of amusement in Hannibal's voice now.

The knife trailed down over the zipper of Will's trousers. Heat followed. Will's cock pressed hard against his jeans and he wet his lips again.

Hannibal watched, that tiny smile still curling his lips. It wasn't quite a nice smile. Hannibal's fingers flexed over his shoulder again, almost as if he was testing.

Will sucked in a sharp breath, but held Hannibal's gaze as the pain flared through him. His vision fogged and he blinked out the black spots as Hannibal pressed another kiss to his lips. Will was struck by the absurd thought that Hannibal was tasting the hurt, licking it up.

His heart pounded and raced frantically. The knife shifted and his trousers fell away in tatters, swept to the floor by Hannibal's hand. The jacket stayed trapped around Will's shoulders as his his chest heaved and Hannibal pulled back again. Taking in the view.

"I was going to eat your brain." Hannibal's tone was matter of fact.

Will swallowed again, hyper-aware of the cool caress of the knife against his bare skin. He stayed carefully still. "Not my heart?" He couldn't quite resist.

Hannibal's held tilted again. The smile vanished from his lips, but his eyes were somehow more fond than ever. Fond, curious, assessing, hungry – too many different things. Hannibal's hand shifted away from his shoulder and took his cock in hand instead, stroking. Light, indulgent.

A breathless, disorientated moan escaped Will's lips. Hannibal immediately kissed him again. Will's hips arched into the touch, pain and pleasure warring for dominance. Adrenaline sung through his blood.

Hannibal reached for the syringe. It sunk into Will's skin as easily as the knife once had.

"Give that a moment."

Will floated.

* * *

The sunset bathed the room scarlet and gold.

A toy pressed inside him, carefully placed and nudging pleasure through him if he so much as twitched. Colour rushed to Will's cheeks – and that, he could admit, was unexpected. Everything was delicately placed, with the same love and artistry of tableau that Hannibal gave to his dining table.

Will's arms were stretched above his head, secured to the ceiling. Will tugged, and rope bit into his wrists. His toes only just scraped the floor, leaving him unsteady without putting all the weight onto his arms.

He supposed Hannibal was still concerned Will might attempt to 'forgive' him prematurely, but he couldn't see the knife anyway.

Through the window he could hear the buzz of people and lives, winding inside the veins and streets of Florence. In the other room he heard the pop of a cork, the clink of glass, and then Hannibal's footsteps approaching.

It wasn't quite the traditional wine and dine, but he supposed Hannibal had been doing that for years. Hannibal stopped in front of him, holding the glass to his lips like he'd done with the water earlier.

Will took a sip, holding Hannibal's gaze. He concentrated on keeping his breathing even and his head on straight when Hannibal set the glasses aside and took his cock in hand instead, but with Hannibal's idle strokes continued before he didn't quite manage either. He felt utterly exposed, stripped bare in more than just his lack of clothing.

"Do you want to pick your forgiveness back up again?" Hannibal asked. His eyes dipped to the smile he'd left Will with.

Will wasn't sure which of their forgiveness they were talking about, but maybe it was the same thing. Blurred, conjoined. It took two people for forgiveness to happen. He nodded anyway, whether they meant God's forgiveness or the Devil's.

Hannibal wet his lips, drinking up Will's every movement again. His eyes gleamed in the fading light. He reached into his pocket and Will felt the toy buzz to life. His hips shuddered, breath going shaky. Hannibal continued to stroke, smooth, too methodical for it to be anything but an act. "I'd like a verbal answer, please, Will. Before we get started."

"This seems an unconventional way to purge me of my sins," Will groaned. It came out a little slurred because of the drug. But when Hannibal leaned in to kiss him again, he nipped back eagerly. Craned into the heat, determined to leave his own mark. He ached to touch, to shred the rest of Hannibal's person-suit and leave him unraveled and undone.

Hannibal pulled back, pupils as blown as Will imagined his own were. He placed his hand gently on Will's wounded shoulder.

Will released a breath. "Yes," he said.

Hannibal studied him a moment longer, before offering an approving nod. The hand slipped away from his shoulder once more, mapping out his body. Examining it with the same interest he'd always radiated towards Will's brain, ready to pick him apart and put him back together again in a slightly different way.

It was dizzying, being in his own head and Hannibal's at the time. Possessed, possessing. He didn't know who was who, really. Hannibal hadn't killed him, after all – one kiss and his plans seemed to have shifted and changed.

It was as if Hannibal sensed his thoughts, because the toy turned up another few levels. Will muffled a moan against Hannibal's shoulder. Hannibal pinched his nipple to punish him for holding back, dragging out another startled sound.

Hannibal stroked him until he was trembling, still with the same methodical pace, until Will was straining on the edge and biting back a plea of mercy. Then he moved on.

Touches feather-light, teasing, relishing in simple sensuality. In the feel of it, the warmth of Will's flushed skin, the coil and clench of his muscles beneath the scarred and fragile surface of his skin. Breathing in the scent of Will's want, the Florence air musky and sweet, the dirt and the grime and the sweet copper stench of blood gushing through his body.

Hannibal's mouth soon followed the blazing trail his hands set, sucking blooming purple claims and bruises like splotches of paint on a canvas, planting kisses and grazing teeth.

Will shuddered. Hannibal's lips were soft for such a dangerous weapon, teeth sending pleasure-pain electric when all Will should feel like was prey. He felt slowly overwhelmed. Rocking his hips forward, but it did little good.

"Hannibal-" he jerked to a halt.

Hannibal's teeth grazed over the shell of his ear, tongue flicking over the fragile skin, breath hot against him. Not quite even either, quicker and no longer so measured. "Yes, my dear Will?" Entirely too sweet for anything good.

Will shivered anew, head nudging aside. Chasing Hannibal's mouth and latching onto another kiss.

Hannibal pulled back again, nipping the nape of his neck, warm against Will's back. His kisses moved to Will's collar, his unwounded shoulder. His lips ghosted over the wounded shoulder –

Will tensed on the spot, mouth gone utterly dry. Hannibal's hand splayed on the back of his head, threading through his hair, holding him steady and close just like he'd done earlier. It was both intoxicating and terrifying to be so completely at Hannibal's mercy – to know he didn't have to fight, that he couldn't fight with the restraints and the lingering fogginess of the drug.

All Hannibal required of him was to feel. To let Hannibal decide their fate this time.

Hannibal pressed a kiss to the wound as Will shuddered and gasped, fingers twisting in the restraints, toes scrabbling against the floor for some kind of leverage automatically. Hannibal grabbed his hips, holding Will still as he squirmed and bucked against him.

Will felt Hannibal grind against him, as hard as Will himself was. Will guessed what was coming a moment before it did. "No – Hannibal -"

Teeth sunk into the bullet wound.

Will howled, the sound ripping from his chest as he strained in Hannibal's grip and the restraints. Drenched in sweat, mind darting this and that – his own pain – and Hannibal's overwhelming pleasure. He felt he could get lost in it, indulge in and never feel guilt for Hannibal's crimes again if he stayed like this.

It was impossible to plot, to forgive, to hold a grudge. All he could do was choke down lungfuls of air, hips twitching, straining on the edge of coming again as the toy still buzzed relentlessly against his prostate to snatches of lightning-want.

Everything was Hannibal. He felt consumed as Hannibal's bite gentled, nuzzling and worrying him and pressing the tenderest of kisses to his skin. Hannibal's fingers wrapped around his cock again, holding firm as a quiet, dazed moan left Will. It wrenched Will back from the edge once more, kept him aching and desperate and undone at the seams.

Will's head tipped back, resting against Hannibal's shoulder once more.

Hannibal took a moment to slide his fingers through Will's hair, petting him, soothing. The possibility of forgiveness, perhaps, starting to linger in the air. "Would you like some more wine?" Hannibal asked.

Will tried to nip at his lips, because Hannibal knew Will didn't want the bloody wine right now. He felt like he was going to explode from wanting, but it wasn't from Hannibal's fancy fucking wine.

Fast as a striking viper, Hannibal caught hold of his jaw. Grip unyielding, unforgiving, keeping Will's head turned towards him and in place. Will's cheeks flushed, eyes burning with frustration and need. Another small, utterly self-satisfied smile crossed Hannibal's lips before he planted a maddeningly chaste kiss to Will's mouth more. When he next spoke, his voice had gone husky.

"You said you would do it with your hands," Hannibal said. "That it would be intimate."

Will wondered if it had been the knife that had hurt – offended – Hannibal more than the attempt at murder. Murder and reckonings had not been the betrayal that left him with a knife in his belly, after all. Playing with Hannibal's feelings, seemingly rejecting him, had done that.

"Knives are intimate," he said. Hannibal sounded hoarse, Will sounded wrecked.

Hannibal pressed another kiss, considering him. "But it is not the reckoning you promised me."

Will's pulse beat frantic against Hannibal's fingers. He let his eyes flutter closed again, trying to remember how to breathe. "Perhaps if you want me to use my hands, you should untie me."

"Do you truly wish for me to do that?"

Will opened his eyes again as he tried to read Hannibal's tone, his expression – as usual, he could read little. It seemed a sincere enough question. Will's throat abruptly felt a little thick. Their gazes locked.

"Does it make a difference to how you are perceiving this?" Hannibal asked next, in the same measured tone even if his voice was still a little rough with want. If anything, he seemed even harder against Will than before. "You said that every crime of mine is one that you feel guilty of."

It was a cruel reminder, compared to the sincerity of the question, and Will's jaw jumped tense. But it wasn't an untrue one, either. It was just a different way of Hannibal finally sinking his teeth in properly.

Will wasn't sure he'd walk away this time, that either of them would, but perhaps that was precisely the point. "Is this a crime?" He returned.

"I find criminality so often depends on who you ask," Hannibal said. "You look beautiful."

The sudden flattery took him aback as much as the question had, and Will blinked like he'd been dazed and drugged all over again. Of course, he was … aware of Hannibal's regard for him, had been aware of it when he leaned in to kiss Hannibal in what he'd assumed would be a final act of – of something. Care. Violence. Same difference.

He smashed his mouth against Hannibal's, biting hard. Graceless.

Hannibal turned the toy up again and Will shuddered and drifted.

* * *

They'd moved to the bedroom. He'd spread Will out, splendid and ravishing on crisp white sheets – a stunning contrast to the gold of his tanned skin in the light, the darkness of his hair, the bruises plucked purple and the crimson threads of cuts etched across Will's body. His marks, replacing the battered weight of the last weeks.

Hannibal's own clothes had been discarded along the way.

Will's fingers latched into his hair, vicious and claiming in turn, reeling him in again and again and again – but for kisses, instead of conviction, this time. At some point, the rot and resentment sweated away like poison sucked from a snake wound as Will moaned and writhed beneath his hands, mind purged clean of anything but how good Hannibal could make him feel. How alive. How wanted.

It was always supposed to be like this. He turned Will around on the bed onto his knees, keeping his arms pinned firmly in his grip.

Jack had been the first to suggest getting inside Will's head, but he'd likely never meant it like this. Will's mind and body opened to him like wet watercolours bleeding together. His.

He stroked his fingers along Will's cheek, watching him almost tenderly for a moment as he shuddered.

"Are you still seeking forgiveness?" Hannibal asked. A wrath and fire and bruises forgiveness, something between God and the Devil.

Will's breath hitched, far beyond easily finding words now. Lies were not possible when Will was stripped down like an exposed nerve, writhing with pleasure.

Hannibal pulled the toy out and watched Will sag against the mattress with relief, the want remaining.

Hannibal gripped his hips hard and pressed inside Will in one smooth movement, a low groan escaping his throat. Some of his own composure had fallen along the way too, gathered up greedily by Will's eyes and mouth. Consuming him in turn like an ouroboros.

They both paused for a moment, breathing hard. Taking a moment to adjust as the warmth spread through him and he took a moment more to stroke his fingers feather-light over the scar on Will's stomach.

Will quivered beneath him, the wound on his shoulder no longer bleeding. Surrounded by marks of teeth. It was crude, perhaps, but perfect beyond all measure.

Hannibal started to move, hard, fast thrusts as Will's hips rocked up to meet him. He clamped his hand down hard on Will's shoulder again, feeling him twist and clench and shudder.

It was utterly intoxicating to have Will at his mercy. It always had been. Even if Will so often surprised him, like with the kiss, or maybe especially because of that. If he ate Will's brain, he'd never get to see it tick and work again.

No, this was better.

He came with a cry of Will's name, reverent in its own way, as Will collapsed, spent and boneless with pleasure beneath him. Utterly undone by Hannibal's hand, laid out, exquisite.

All they needed now was a common enemy.

* * *

 _A/N: Happy Birthday to my darling beta! :) Colour me bloody terrified at posting this. First proper smut and first full Hannibal/Hannigram fic. Any feedback would be much appreciated, kind or constructive or whatever._


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